


as soon as we embrace, we salivate.

by lachryma



Category: Dracula - Bram Stoker, John Wick (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Victorian, F/M, Human/Vampire Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-16 01:10:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19307581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lachryma/pseuds/lachryma
Summary: ONE OF US WANTS TO EAT, ONE OF US IS GOING TO BE SWALLOWED UP IN LITTLE PIECES, WE ALL WANT TO BE EATEN, IN THE BEGINNING WE WERE ALL FORMERLY BORN-TO-EAT.-    helene cixous ,  stigmata:  love of the wolf.an alternate universe in which john wick is one of the most powerful vampires to prowl the earth. eternally haunted by his human live and his appetite for blood and violence, he takes a bride to ease the wound of solitude but finds that she brings much more than companionship to his home.inspired heavily by the works of helene cixous and angela carter's the bloody chamber.





	as soon as we embrace, we salivate.

**Author's Note:**

> This AU is set primarily around the Victorian period, so the way they talk and act will be different from the modern (canon) portrayal of John Wick. I mean, vampires and the Victorian era go together like honey and cake. 
> 
> Also, story is told in first person from the bride's point of view because I wanted the challenge of writing in first person. 
> 
> I also highly recommend listening to the queen of the damned movie soundtrack while reading, because it served largely as auditory inspiration.

I remember the ceremony. I remember the soft sound of my bridal gown, shifting with each step I took down that aisle and closer to damnation. I remember how small the gathering of guests had been. Only my own family had attended. I hadn’t bothered, at the time, to wonder why that was. I had been enthralled that evening, entranced by the glory of my corrupter. My husband, my fiend.

He towered over me and always had. A mass of darkness that never made a sound, rarely even to speak. Would you believe me if I told you I had been his house-servant once?  _ A maid _ , to the disappointment of my mother who believed I deserved better. How often she told the tale of our long, noble lineage. Sadly, there was no lineage. No marvelous legacy for me to come into. My mother had been a low prostitute, mind addled with terrors she could no longer remember, and my father had been a soldier -- there and gone before he even knew of my creation. My mother’s fantasy was the way she kept herself alive, I think. If reality ever cracked the thin glass veil of her world, I was certain she’d die.  So, I had always entertained her, while secretly attempting to take care of us both.

On the hill the castle sat with menacing presence. Carved black stone, weathered by decade’s time. It nestled on the cliffside, facing the grey sea that beat against the rocks below - one day hoping to swallow the fortress down, deep into its depths.  Yet, the castle always remained -- the object of many a wive’s tale and children’s nightmares.

Even I, as a child, had been terrified of the castle that no one dared to visit. Imagine my terror as I stood outside the iron doors, as perhaps the only visitor those doors had seen in centuries.  My hands were shaking, and no amount of trying would get them to stop. 

He had noticed my trembling hands, that observant would-be-husband of mine. He had considered them with a vague emotion and asked, in a voice so low it was hard to hear, “Do I frighten you?”  I had said yes, before the sense to lie had even occurred to me.  _ Only children scare so easily _ , my conscience scolded.  That answer, however, I swear to you -- made me catch the most fleeting glimpse of a smile from behind the beard of that intimidating man. So certain was I that he had smiled -- my shaking hands stopped at once, and sat still as stone upon my lap.  

“You don’t have to be frightened. Tell me your name.” 

I did as he asked, and he told me I was to stay in the castle along with the other servants -- none of whom I had seen since my arrival -- and that my duties would start tomorrow.  I thought to thank him, but he had raised himself from his chair and slipped through the door before I could conjure the words. I would not see him again for some time.  I could not help, in that moment, to feel as if I'd made a choice I could not back out from.      _Do not tell the devil your name, child, it will give him power over you forever._

 

My first month was a month of solitude. Very rarely did I bump into another servant and rarer still did they spare me any notice. They did not speak, or if they did I certainly never heard them. I taught myself my duties as a maid. I worked out the best ways to polish the brassware (no silver could be found, I noticed), the best ways to dust the bookshelves of the master’s study, and I learned which windows were not rusted shut -- so that I may let the sea air in to freshen the halls.  

I tried, with such dedication, to make myself busy. The skin of my hands would peel and my bones would ache from labor -- but I could never shake my sense of dissatisfaction, my unending loneliness.  My only company, it seemed, would be the company of ghosts which I fancied were the ones who would move things when I was not looking -- or would open and shut doors before I could turn to see just who had passed through. I never once heard their moaning, and they never replied when I called to them.  _  They must be shy _ , I told myself in good humor.

Once, I had been speaking to the air as I did my needlework, an old story my mother used to tell about a princess and a wolf. Oh, it was a strange story, and no doubt inappropriate to tell a child -- but still I found it brought me certain humor. 

“Who are you talking to?”  

The voice had come so suddenly, so without warning that it made me jump in fright.  “Myself, sir.” Was the only reply I could manage, and it lacked any and all charisma. I sounded meek, and that served only to embarrass me more.

“Yourself? Do you enjoy hearing your own voice?” His tone was so simple, so near dull that I could not tell if he mocked me or not.  I attempted to focus on the mending I had been doing, and not at all at the eyes which peered at me, curiously. 

“Not particularly, sir.  _ I _ \-- There is just no one else to speak with, my lord.” 

“The other servants do not complain.”

“The others do not even speak. I wonder if they even have tongues.”

I flinch at my own insolence, more so than I do the harsh pricking of a needle invading my skin. A bead of red swells from such a small wound, blossoming like a flower of punishment for an unheld tongue.  I bring my finger to my lips, and a breath hitches softly the moment my tongue meets my finger.

It is my turn to have curiosity, and I look at the imposing figure that, in turn, stares at my finger. In a moment of silence, broken only by the sound of my own breathing, I am allowed a good look at the lord I serve.

Tall, dark. As if all the shadows in the castle had rushed to clothe him. His skin is pale as marble, as if he had been carved from such a precious stone. His hair and beard are also dark, as are his eyes which boast a menacing shine.  He is, to me in that moment, darkness incarnate - and I am bewitched. 

In my observations I see his shoulders relax, and too suddenly his eyes meet mine and he acts as if nothing has happened,  “You are lonely.”

I had not expected him to say that, and nor so bluntly.  But his tone suggests that he knows, and won’t hear my excuses. 

“I am, sir. I am not ungrateful for my employment, sir, but I just - I’m _human_.” 

Something stirs within him, some mental gears winding and turning as he considers what I’ve just said to their most finite meaning.   “Yes.  _Human._ I’ll give you the company you want.” 

In my confusion, I say nothing. 

“We’ll have dinner together this evening.”

Again, I am silent - and he takes this as, for whatever reason, an acceptance and he leaves me without another word.  I sit with my work forgotten, contemplating just what had transpired between us. 

 

For dinner it felt as if it was only polite to dress up. However, I had no finery to my name - not even a pair of jewels to hang from my ears.  I wore the dress I had come to him. Plain and grey, and hardly acceptable to present to a lord. Yet, he did not reprimand me as I came through the dining room doors. I must have been late, for he was already sitting at the head of the table, hands interlaced in front of him.  I could not imagine how insolent and rude he thought me to be. Ungrateful, too, for I had yet to even thank him for his hospitality. 

“Sit.” He gestures across the table to the chair at the opposite head. I sit, and notice that the table is so dramatically large in length, that I might have to shout in order to speak to him.  

As if they had been waiting out of sight, a maid and manservant arrive and place our glasses and our dining ware. They serve us wine, though I notice the lord drinks something from another bottle -- and I wonder, stupidly, if he’s keeping the good bottle for himself.  A sip of my wine, and I cannot tell if this is true. By no means am I a connoisseur of grapes and wine. It all tastes the same to me. Bitter.

Across the polished oak, my dining partner sits silently. He drinks from his cup and stares at the fire that crackles in the hearth. 

I think of things to say, conversations to have -- well into dinner. The food I’m given is wondrous. Roasted bird, fresh vegetables, all arranged prettily on a plate. It is by my third bite I realize that the lord has not a single ounce of food on his own plate.  

“You’re not going to eat?”

My words seem to stir him from some daydream, as he blinks and tears his eyes away from the fireplace.  “No, I’m not hungry.”

“I feel guilty for eating without you.” 

He smiles, then, and from our distance I see his mouth is terribly red and his teeth so vibrantly white.   A voice in my head sings aloud: _ All the better to eat you with, my dear!  _ “Don’t be. You’re my guest tonight. You should do as you like.”

“But, sir, I am not a guest. I’m a maid, I should be serving you - just as the others.”

“Is that what you’d like to do? Serve me?”

I sputter. How am I meant to answer such a question? Honestly? _ No, my lord, I have greater dreams of living in the countryside and tending to large orchards in complete peace and solitude.   _ Am I to lie?  _ My complete will and life are yours, my lord, allow me to serve you until I wither and die.  _

“You pay me to do so, sir. There is pleasure in that.” I manage an answer, but the tune is not as sweet as I’d have liked it to be. He seems to notice, in his infinite observation, that this answer is not wholly true.

“But you are unsatisfied?” He asks, with the slow tilt of his head. I am certain he is testing me, prodding me. Our interview earlier had been a charade -- here lay the true test.

“Satisfied enough to have cleaned your study top to bottom, my lord. To have scrubbed your stairs, to have seen the cobwebs gone and the gloom of your home cast away.” 

He smiles, again, that bright and terrible smile, “But you think you are destined for greater things.”  This is not a question, and I know no answer will entertain it as such. He has seen through me, entirely. I am like a window with no shutters, to him.  I could only try in vain to hide myself from him. 

I am silent, and so he speaks for me. “You will join me in my home, Lavinia. I will make you head of this manor by title and by right. Would that please you?”

I lower my head, but it is not an action made out of modesty. It is to hide the grit of my teeth at his mockery. His words cannot be as I infer them. He jests and mocks me!  I won’t have it!

“Sir, I will not be poked at for your entertainment. I demand you be left alone!”  A maid making demands of a lord, I have truly grown so foolish in my years. Twenty-seven, a seamstress by societal standards, and stupid enough to act so haughty and well above my station.   I should blame him for his inability to correct me, to raise a hand at my impudence. Were he to raise his voice or regard me with a colder stare -- perhaps, I’d be more willing to hold my tongue.  But even now, not a nerve in his features does flinch. 

“I am not teasing you, Lavinia. I am asking you to become my wife, lady of my house.”

“Inconceivable!” My rage had festered and boiled over, until I stood from my chair so violently -- it tipped over and clattered to the floor. I know my face is flushed, and it must be so funny to see. But I stand as tall as I’m able, spurned by the fact that the lord still has not flinched. 

“You are absurd! To marry a man I do not know, whose name I do not know! Do you think I am so desperate?” 

He rises from his chair with more patience than I had. Around the table he steps, dragging fingertips along the smooth oak. He stops but a few inches from me, peering down with a look still so undisturbed. 

“John.” He says, and I have to shake my head in disbelief. He says it again, “John. That is my name.” 

I am left speechless, anger subsiding bit by bit until I am left uncertain of how I now feel.  

“I know I’m asking a lot. But, it would be more aligned with a business arrangement. You’ll have all you could ever dream of, without a want for anything. You would have the means to do anything you’d like.”

“And you?” My voice is a whisper, I wonder if he can even hear it. “And what will you get from it? From me?” 

“Your company.”

 

I can not tell you why I relented to him. Why, exactly, I allowed him the answer he so clearly wanted to hear. Yes, I had said, and he had placed his hands on my shoulders. Slowly, he leaned down and pressed his lips to my forehead.  They were cool, smooth -- and so tender was the kiss that my anxieties were relieved in an instant. 

The ceremony was left up to him. I, in a stupor, avoided him as often as I could manage. He had gifted my a large suite, a bed with velvet blankets and the plushest pillows I’d ever felt.  It was, as if, I had gone from servant to princess -- it made my head spin. In my tower I locked myself away, coming out only to creep to the kitchens to eat. John never sought to seek me out, nor intrude on my insisted privacy. 

My bridal gown came by delivery of a maid, who sniffed crudely as I regarded my reflection in the mirror.  The white silk of the gown contrasted against the burgundy of my hair, and I was reminded, then, of the mouth of my fiance.   _ All the better to eat you with!   _  I tore my eyes away from the other me, and stripped myself of the dress.  It’s fine, I said, and the maid left -- no doubt to tell my soon-to-be husband what I had done, how I had reacted.  

I only saw John once the ceremony had begun. No organs nor pianos played, no one spoke or gasped at my arrival. It seemed to me more like a funeral than a wedding, and I wondered if I was a corpse, late to the affair. 

My mother sobbed in her seat as a man, who I would never dare consider a priest, poured the sacred wine into a chalice.  John took the first drink, and then passed it to me. Our fingers touched as I curled my hands around the chalice and brought it to my lips.  The voice of my mother accompanied the bringing of the wine to my lips. “My girl, my girl is gone! My girl! My child!  _ Gone, Gone, Gone _ !”   She had to be escorted outside as I drained each drop from the chalice.  It tasted like no wine I had ever had. Spiced, sweet, laced in corruption.  I wanted more, but I’d have none of it.

 The priest blessed our union, and at last my husband and I turned to each other.  He brought his hands, as cold as his lips, to my cheeks. My lips parted as he lowered, and captured them with his own.  I was his now. I was now the wife of a man I’d come to learn was feared by all.   
  



End file.
